The World looks different at 60 feet,
standing on the Huey skids, gritting my teeth.
Birds coming in fast and smoke rising slow,
drop into the tall grass not knowing which way to go.
Ears trying to hear and eyes not believing,
mortars and ****** men screaming and bleeding.
Yes the World looks different at 60 feet,
now hovering above me where I'd rather be.
It's been years now , the sights and sounds have gone to fade,
still look to the skies when I hear those blades.
Men faced walls of steel in that tall ****** grass,
at 60 feet my Brothers I raise this glass.
Gone but not forgotten.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
The World looks different at 60 feet,
standing on the Huey skids, gritting my teeth.
Birds coming in fast and smoke rising slow,
drop into the tall grass not knowing which way to go.
Ears trying to hear and eyes not believing,
mortars and ****** men screaming and bleeding.
Yes the World looks different at 60 feet,
now hovering above me where I'd rather be.
It's been years now , the sights and sounds have gone to fade,
still look to the skies when I hear those blades.
Men faced walls of steel in that tall ****** grass,
at 60 feet my Brothers I raise this glass.
Gone but not forgotten.
Paul roberts; Turn the Page
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